


The Lace in Your Dress Tangles My Neck

by gunboots



Series: She's Gonna Save Me [1]
Category: The Man From U.N.C.L.E. (2015)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Arranged Marriage, Crack, F/M, Gen, I just wanted mail-order groom Illya, Modern AU, drabble thing, i blame gallya fsts, illya is a house husband and gaby runs her own garage, it's really just a small kind of set up, napoleon flirts a lot just fyi, pure cheesecake idk, stop me from rom-com hell
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-17
Updated: 2015-09-17
Packaged: 2018-04-21 04:48:09
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,267
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4815626
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gunboots/pseuds/gunboots
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"You MARRIED me off to a STRANGER?" Gaby is exhausted but she is furious enough to kill. </p>
<p>"Mail-order groom from Russia--it was a highly rated website." Napoleon dodges a shoe thrown at his head. Gaby reaches for another of her flats, and aims again. "It was supposed to be a joke."</p>
<p>"You filled out a green card form in MY name." Napoleon, even full of fine champagne, still dodges faster than she ever could. Damn him. Damn his irritating attitude. Damn the fact he's quite possibly her best and only friend and alas she cannot kill him. "What part of that is a JOKE? I just got my CITIZENSHIP."</p>
<p>"A very elaborate joke?" Napoleon tries. Gaby's glare turns murderous.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>The one where Gaby runs her own garage, Napoleon is a male model/her bff, and Illya is the mail-order groom Napoleon orders for her.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Lace in Your Dress Tangles My Neck

**Author's Note:**

> Really I just wanted Gaby to have a mail-order groom and it turned out to be Illya. Also for Napoleon to be the platonic best friend that really loves her like family but is just bad at showing it. I don't know? I took a lot of liberties with how mail-order services work I assume. I figure from other fic and idk various mediums that you're already married to the person? Also in a sense Napoleon totally commits fraud by putting forms in Gaby's name but you know, fanfic logic. 
> 
> Also, I know draniki aren't really appetizers depending on who you ask, but I will always have a fondness for them in my heart since they're the only thing I learned to make in Russia lol. 
> 
> I tried to catch what grammar mistakes I could but ya. Title is from 'Death of a Bachelor' and what does it say about this fandom and my current state that it was on constant repeat.
> 
> **[EDIT]** : lol so totally made this into a series because I am weak and couldn't leave it alone. I don't even know anymore. But yes, thanks everyone for the kind words and kudos <3333

Gaby gets the news she's married, when she's in her coveralls, oil over her forehead, and irritable from being stuck under a hood all day. Napoleon is already in her apartment, fresh from a photo-shoot two cities over and all eager grins that instantly make her suspicious.

"What did you do?" She demands, too tired to do much besides drop her purse on the floor.

"Gaby." Napoleon's voice is honey sweet and instantly she raises a brow. "Please remember I do things out of love." 

Nothing can quite prepare her it to be honest.

\---

"You MARRIED me off to a STRANGER?" Gaby maybe exhausted but she is furious enough to kill. 

"Mail-order groom from Russia--it was a highly rated website." Napoleon dodges a shoe thrown at his head. Gaby reaches for another of her flats, and aims again."It was supposed to be a joke."

"You filled out a green card form in MY name." Napoleon, even full of fine champagne, still dodges faster than she ever could. Damn him. Damn his irritating attitude. Damn the fact he's quite possibly her best and only friend and alas she cannot kill him. "What part of that is a JOKE? I just got my CITIZENSHIP."

"A very elaborate joke?" Napoleon tries. Gaby's glare turns murderous.

"Napoleon, I will break your nose." It's not a question, it's a promise. Gaby does not care that Napoleon's livelihood is his face, that he's a highly sought after model. She can and will kick his ass. Napoleon knows this.

Napoleon gives a winning smile. "On the bright side, now you have someone else besides ME to take to Uncle Rudi's 50th birthday?" 

Gaby lunges. 

\---

Hours later, Napoleon holding a bag of ice to a black eye. In the scheme of things, he still got off easy--she didn't have it in her to do much else. 

"I can't believe you." Gaby knows disappointment is probably the worst balm to Napoleon anyways, if his chastised looks are anything to go by. "How do you think he's going to feel when he meets me? I just got my own garage--I'm not going to be someone's housewife. This isn't fair--you don't even understand how HARD it is to come to America." 

Napoleon pokes morosely at the ice cubes in his bag. Another tell. He slides further into her couch. 

"Any man, dear Ms. Teller, would be lucky to have you." Napoleon says after a moment, something like an apology. "If you really don't like him then we'll work through it. He can stay if he wants, hell I may even take him off your hands depending."

Gaby rolls her eyes, but nudges him with her elbow.

"Isn't that a bit much?" But this is Napoleon Solo. And experience as HIS best friend has taught her that he is anything but understated. The skeptical look her gives her is enough of a reminder.

She sighs because in Napoleon's own strange brand of logic he probably DID think he was helping her at the time. 

And sadly, with how many hours she was clocking in at the garage, this was the first time she'd be meeting someone that wasn't Napoleon (who she loved as a brother but just no) or a client or a fellow mechanic.

It really said something that her dating life--she'd realized at that moment--had been alarmingly stagnant. 

\---

Her husband is named Illya Kuryakin and he's on an incoming plane from Moscow Domodedovo airport the day after tomorrow--the timing of which Gaby pinched Napoleon on the arm for ( _'What would you have done if I had refused to MEET HIM?' she'd raged, while he'd looked sheepish, '...probably say I Was Gaby Teller? Honestly I hadn't thought it through'_ ). 

So here they were, Gaby in the best dress she could excavate from her closet (and sadly, it says something about how preoccupied she's been that she couldn't even REMEMBER buying it), Napoleon at her side like a surreal surrogate brother figure as she scans the people disembarking the flight.

"Do you know what he looks like?" Gaby asks, peering at the endless mass of people that pass. She finally settles for trying to balance on her tip toes when a crowd of large gentlemen bustle past. 

"About that--"

"--You don't, do you?" 

"The picture never really could load for me." Napoleon admits, and of course, Napoleon is so very careful and precise about certain things like wardrobe and lock picking but so haphazard about everything else. Why was she even surprised.

"Gaby Teller?" Someone asks, deep baritone and thick Russian accent making Gaby's toes curl just the slightest. Napoleon and her both exchange glances before turning and pausing. And staring. And staring some more.

The man is devastatingly handsome, wearing a simple button up and dress pants. His eyes alone maybe make Gaby swoon a little.

"Yes, I'm Gaby Teller." Napoleon recovers first, voice and face completely innocent. "It's so good to meet you, darling."

The man just eyes Napoleon with skepticism, like he's not quite sure what to do with the joke. Gaby find it adorable. She's concerned.

"Gaby Teller is woman." The man remarks, flatly.

"Semantics." Napoleon replies, eyes focused on the outline of the man's biceps.

"Down Napoleon." Gaby interjects, with a shake of her head. She smiles up at the man (he is TALL, something about that is just so good for her) and extends her hand to shake. "Hello, I'm Gaby Teller and this is just my friend, Napoleon Solo. I take it you're my husband?"

The man looks down at her and when he returns her smile--it's such a small, soft thing that she hates how much she likes it instantly.

"My name is Illya Kuryakin, I am very fortunate to have you as wife. Congratulations to us both." Illya's voice a firm rumble among the white noise of the airport. He takes her extended hand and raises it to his lips to press a kiss.

Damn Napoleon.

Illya maybe a keeper after all.

\---

"Never, EVER, say I am selfish and have done nothing for you." Napoleon sing-songs at her from across the dining room table as Illya sets down dish after dish of dinner. He'd refused to eat out instead opting to cook and instantly both Napoleon and Gaby had caved since they'd sadly both found themselves at the point in their lives where home-cooked meals were a rarity. Even though Illya had just spent over 12 hours on a flight, her husband (and maybe she flushes just the littlest bit) insists that future cooking (and probably cleaning when he'd side-eyed the state of the apartment) will be left to him.

"He may poison us, but I don't care. His _draniki_ ALONE Gaby." Napoleon continues as he continues to pick at the food in front of him. Even as Illya comes in setting down one last dish with a stern frown of disapproval as he watches Napoleon take another bite.

Gaby realizes that Illya seems more offended at the fact Napoleon isn't waiting for either of them to eat than he is about the dig at marital homicide. 

"This is first dinner as married couple." He says and on other men, it'd be sulking but Illya is still so intimidating. Napoleon drops the piece on his plate obediently. Illya glances back at her, and his look softens.

“After you.” He gestures to the plates lined up before her like a feast, and she’s alarmed how moved she feels at that moment.

"Thank you." Illya's mouth twitches upwards, pleased and she is smitten.


End file.
